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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378581">weeds are flowers too</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediumbear/pseuds/mediumbear'>mediumbear</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, KNBxNBA, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:21:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378581</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediumbear/pseuds/mediumbear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not laziness and it's not neglect. It's just Tatsuya's priorities.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Himuro Tatsuya/Kagami Taiga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>weeds are flowers too</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i would like to thank johannathemad @ insta for feeding me with delicious kagahimu this morning featuring long-haired himuro: https://www.instagram.com/p/B-TLK4nB3Zv/</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Every time Tatsuya arrives at the airport terminal he wonders if the feeling will ever get old; of the heart fluttering in his chest in a way that only the court knows, his fingertips fizzling up on the inside like he’s dipping them in carbonated water. Emerging from the baggage collection that he’s sailed through, it’s always slightly more of a challenge than he anticipates, picking out a blazing flame amongst a dull sea. His beacon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi!” He hears, before he sees the arms belonging to the owner of that bold voice waving in the throng of family members holding signs and leaning over barriers. As he loops around the crowd he sees Taiga’s expression melt from hope to delight and he grins despite himself. It’s been years but he can never shake off the habit of trying not to look </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>eager. Taiga sweeps him up into a bear hug and Tatsuya feels the tips of his sneakers leave the ground for just a split second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome back,” Taiga sighs into his shoulder like he’s breathing in Tatsuya’s scent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m home,” he whispers, and ever-so-carefully, shrugs Taiga off enough that his backpack isn’t being rammed into his sore shoulder. “Were you waiting long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Taiga replies almost sulkily in a way that makes Tatsuya clock, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, you were</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But then he can never help missing Tatsuya the way he does when he’s back in New York for game season, so he’ll allow him that much childishness. His hands drag up Tatsuya’s back in the reluctance to let go, but then they skirt up to his neck above the hem of his hoodie. Tatsuya blinks, shrugging off one hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your hair’s gotten longer,” Taiga remarks with eyebrows knit, thumbing at the ends of his hair practically covering his nape, “How come I never saw that on FaceTime?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who knows,” Tatsuya smiles and reaches up to bump Taiga’s fingertips with his own. It’s not much of an answer since he’d much rather head immediately back to the apartment than talk about himself, and it certainly doesn’t satisfy Taiga, who looks put out, “Haven’t had time for a haircut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s vaguely enough to dissuade him from any further comments and right away Taiga’s warm fingers find their way to the chain necklace just a few inches below his neckline and he smiles, gentle. “You can have all the time in the world to yourself now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he replies, unwaveringly neutral. It isn’t a lack of time, not really, but if that’s what will get him off his back.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even later at Taiga's apartment, cosy in the bath, he won’t let it go. Having escaped his gaze solved nothing. Tatsuya closes his eyes, resting back on Taiga’s chest half-submerged, and he can’t distance himself mentally from the delicate playing of Taiga’s rough fingertips on his forehead, his cheek, the side of his neck, chasing those fucking cowlicks. The longer it gets the more it curls, even in water-- no, especially in water. Cherubic. He wants to shave it all off at this point. At a touch that’s too far behind his ear to be safely ticklish or erotic he jerks his head free of Taiga’s hands, who splashes in surprise and scoots back up an inch from where they’d been slipping soapily beneath the water from his accidental lug of bubble-bath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tatsuya tries in vain to blow a curl out of his eyes but it’s stuck to his forehead. “Tickles,” he lies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever he’d said about not having enough time? It isn’t true but it isn’t exactly false, either. ‘Time for himself’ doesn’t exist as a strong concept. He can make room in his life whenever he likes, only over the last quarter he hadn’t concerned himself too much with, what you’d call, upkeep, depending. It had been a hellish season. It was a nightmare swinging enough holiday time between matches and practice to fly to Chicago. If it was a choice between that twenty dollars towards his bar tab or towards a barber who he’d be seeing again in a matter of weeks, right now, he knows where his priorities lie. Besides, he doesn’t sleep well enough anyway for a few irritating curls or bedhead kinks in his hair to bother him. Not on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just look different,” Taiga says, and for a moment he sounds tender, “I’ve never seen your hair that long before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tatsuya’s guilted into letting go at least a portion of his resentment and he sighs up into the steam. “Does it bother you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course not,” he grumbles, settling further down behind him into the tub with a squeak against the porcelain, “You can do what you want with your hair, I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, right,” Tatsuya almost laughs, “Somehow I’m getting the impression that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bathroom echoes with the drip-drop of water overflow running off the edge of the tub, hitting the tiles. Although he should know this silence is the sound of Taiga thinking hard about his next move, it already makes Tatsuya feel lonely, his immediate punishment for being so spiky about it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What a shitty habit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He should know by now that it’s not criticism.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, just, never seen it below… here,” Taiga murmurs and indicates his very hairline on the back of his neck with a brush of his fingers -- no, just below, by a centimetre or so. The touch has goosebumps tearing across Tatsuya’s skin as though shortcutting to the tepid chill of an old bath. Tatsuya doesn’t reply. There isn’t anything he can say that wouldn’t be a crappy retort, apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, the touch turns into stroking, and before either of them can be bothered to find the words Tatsuya’s turning over in the foam and suds and leaning up into his hand, meeting the side of Taiga’s neck with his mouth. Naturally, the usual peppery taste of his skin is lost beneath the chemical soap bubbles. All the same he predictably groans beneath Tatsuya, rolls his hips in a way that sends another splash over the side of the tub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oops,” Taiga breathes, glancing past Tatsuya’s ear, then pauses to look at him gently, cupping his cheek. In an attempt to avoid inhaling bubbles Tatsuya props himself up an inch or two, and sees Taiga watching him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t pay any more attention to it,” Taiga says suddenly before he can ask what he’s looking at.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Paying attention</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s what it is. Right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hair slathered down the sides of his neck itches as it curls up the moment it’s no longer saturated with the bathwater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, Tatsuya, it’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just so you know, it looks good,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tatsuya sits back and combs a hand back through his wet fringe to look at him properly, a deadly move that always has Taiga squirm, either uncomfortably or in submission. Right now it’s the latter, growing hard beneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taiga gulps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” Tatsuya smiles, “You think you’re the first one to tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when he turns red -- redder than the heat could make him -- and wraps his arms around Tatsuya’s waist with another sudden splash that could empty the bath.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Paying attention.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When he isn’t wrapped up in his own defences, Taiga’s so easy to see through, he thinks to himself.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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